


To the Health of the King

by waterlilyvioletfog



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Baby OCs - Freeform, Elia Martell Deserved Better, F/M, Graphic Sex, Internalized Misogyny, Lyanna Lives AU, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Robert's Rebellion, Sibling Incest, The Old Gods (ASoIaF), The Tower of Joy, anti-Rhaegar, child birth, not smut, weird af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-10-25 01:10:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17715188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlilyvioletfog/pseuds/waterlilyvioletfog
Summary: Lyanna lives, mystery of mysteries. Here's what is done- to protect Jon, to protect Lyanna, Lyanna is married to the recently dismissed Kingslayer, Ser Jaime Lannister.This fic is openly hateful of Tywin Lannister, Robert Baratheon, and Rhaegar Targaryen.





	1. The Tower of Joy

Ned Stark didn’t know what exactly he’d expected to find at the Tower of Joy, but it certainly was not this: his baby sister Lyanna lying in a bed of blood, cradling a screaming babe to her breast, exhausted and sweat-stained and weeping. The Lyanna he remembered was not inclined towards weeping. 

"Ned?" She sobbed when she saw him. "Are you truly here or just another dream?" 

Ned rushed to her side, putting Dawn down to take her bloody hand in his own bloody hand. 

"It's me, little sister. I'm here. Hold on."

For awhile Ned feared that Lyanna would die, but she did not. He gave her water to drink and kept the little hearth blazing even in the Dornish heat. Wylla, the nursemaid Ser Arthur Dayne hired to handle the delivery, cleaned Lyanna and changed her sheets. Finally, finally her fever went down and Lyanna was alive and mostly lucid with a tiny little child in her arms. 

Ned Stark and Howland Reed stayed there with Lyanna and Wylla and the child for a sennight after Lyanna’s fever broke. Ned was determined to bury the Kingsguard and his men outside. Lyanna nursed her newborn babe and told Ned bits and pieces of her story when he came inside, the hot Dornish sun too much for him. Ned told her of the war, of Rhaenys and Aegon and Elia, of Jaime Lannister. She stayed firmly under the covers, still weak from the childbirth and fever. Ned wondered if she’d ever regain her former strength. Her appetite was very little. Ned could remember her stuffing her face at feasts as a child. 

“Rhaegar fathered him, you know,” Lyanna told suddenly him one afternoon, interrupting his account of the Battle at the Trident. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes frightened as she looked up at him.

“I know, little sister." He gave her a stubborn look.  _I do not care who his father is, only for who his mother is, little sister_. 

“What can be done, Ned? What hope is there for my son, the one remaining child of a deposed prince?”

Ned let out a slow breath. “We have had an idea on that front actually. But sister, I sincerely doubt that you will like it.”  

“Tell it to me.” Lyanna steeled herself.

“I’ll go down first to Starfall to return Dawn to House Dayne. By the time I am back, Wylla thinks you should be well enough to ride. We will go up the Prince’s Pass and make our way through the Stormlands and then up the Kingsroad. But when we come to King’s Landing, only you and I shall go into the city. Wylla and Howland and the child will take the Kingsroad all the way to Winterfell. They will install your son there-- as my bastard, not yours.” Lyanna’s face crumpled a bit, but she said nothing, only clutched her dark haired child closer.

“I suppose you’ll be expected to present me to King Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name while we are there." 

"Aye, I expect it as well."

"How will I be presented to him? As his former betrothed, or as the girl Rhaegar ruined?” Her grey glare was fierce.

“As my sister, the Lady Lyanna Stark, held captive by Rhaegar Targaryen in his mad delusions of children. If he still wants to marry you, we’ll tell him you had a child by him- a white-haired daughter, stillborn. No one will look twice at your child, not once we tell them all that he is mine. Perhaps Tywin Lannister will, but your son will be well on his way to Winterfell by then, and there he will be safe." Lyanna turned her face away from her brother, pressed her nose to her son’s head.

After a moment she spoke, “Very well. But only for him.”

They kept silent for a while after that, Ned watching Lyanna fuss over his nephew. How he wished he did not have to separate them like this!

The next day, Lyanna woke finally feeling strong enough to stand and walk around some. She paced the little room, her child in her arms, humming out of tune melodies into her son’s ear. When Ned entered the room, the heat again chasing him within, a question occurred to him.

“Have you given him a name?” Lyanna paused her humming.

“I haven’t much thought of it," Lyanna said honestly, "Rhaegar always said the babe was going to be a girl. He was going to name her Visenya. I don’t believe the thought ever crossed his mind that our child might be a boy.” She looked out the window, lost in a memory of a rare smile gracing his face, pale fingers smoothing over her belly, a strange light entering his indigo eyes. _He loved the thought of our child more than he ever loved me_ , Lyanna thought, and a burning hatred for the fallen prince hung over her as it had not since the labor pangs had finally ended.

“You should name him,” Lyanna told her brother. “He is to be your son, after all.”

Ned looked up, surprised. He accepted it though, and after a few minutes of quiet said, “I’ll call him Jon, then, if that’s alright.”

“A good name. After your foster father?”

“I suppose he is also my goodbrother now,” Ned said, a look of horror briefly donning in his eyes, making Lyanna laugh. “Yes, after Jon Arryn, but also because it is a good Northern name, a good Stark name, and he’ll need that.”

Lyanna looked down into Jon’s little face. Her hair, Ned’s brow, Benjen’s nose, perhaps Brandon’s cheekbones. He certainly looked like a Stark. He was too young for his eyes to be clearly purple or grey, but Lyanna supposed if they were purple everyone would simply say he was Ashara Dayne’s son. Perhaps he would have Rhaegar’s jawline, or his ears, or his voice, or his melancholy though.

Lyanna didn’t want him to look like or be like Rhaegar. Rhaegar was dead. She wanted her son to live. 

"Hello then, little Jon Snow. May they never know who you truly are."


	2. Arrival in King's Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Lyanna arrive in King's Landing. A betrothal is made, and another is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition time my fine feathered friends!

Lyanna cried when Wylla and Howland’s horses swung around the city, headed North with Jon. But she let them go and let Ned guide her into the city. 

The stench of King's Landing had not been exaggerated. 

It was sweltering, too, and Lyanna had spent nearly two years confined to a tower room in the Red Mountains of Dorne. It was a different kind of heat, Lyanna thought. The heat of the Tower had been all hot sun and hot sand. This was the press of half a million human bodies with the stench of excrement, raw meat, and perfumed elites hanging over it everything. Above it all stood the Red Keep, a monstrous thing that had always been home to monstrous people. 

The Iron Throne was truly massive, with steps leading up to it. It looked cruel to Lyanna, like it would slice off her fingers if she dared to touch it. The swords of the Conqueror’s fallen foes had been used to construct the throne.  _ And not a one of those swords Northern _ , Lyanna thought, faint pride filling her. 

Robert Baratheon sat atop the Iron Throne when they entered the room, but as soon as they came forward he stood up and hastened down the steps. He ripped one sleeve as he did this. 

Robert was tall, at least six feet, and he was broader than any man Lyanna had met who wasn’t Hodor the stable boy or an Umber. His eyes were blue like nothing in the world, his hair a thick deep black, so different from Rhaegar’s. He was muscled like a maiden’s fantasy, his arms as big around as her head.  _ But I am no longer a maid. _

Robert opened his arms to embrace Ned. Ned stiffly allowed it, but Lyanna saw a trace of a smile there. Whatever else Robert was, this king was Ned’s friend, and Ned had taken Robert’s side over hers before. She would need to be careful. Ned had promised he wouldn’t let Robert marry her, but Robert was a king. Perhaps the lie of the stillborn daughter would not be enough. She needed to get out of this city.

Lyanna stayed carefully behind Ned as the two friends greeted each other until finally Robert turned away from Ned to her. 

“Lyanna?” Robert whispered, eyes wide. Lyanna kept her face carefully calm. Ned reached up a hand to Robert’s shoulder. 

“Come, my friend,” Ned said, “We should find someplace else to speak on this. But first, my sister is weary from our journey, and she ought to be shown to her rooms. She has told me her whole story and I shall tell it to you.”

*** 

Lyanna looked up from the window of her chamber when she heard the door open and close. Ned peeked in, looking thoroughly out of sorts. 

“Well?” She asked him. 

"I hadn't any need for the lie about the daughter." 

Lyanna's eyebrows shot up. "Curious. What else?"

“You won’t like it at all, little sister.” 

“Tell me anyway. There’s not much I do like anymore.” Ned sighed and stepped into the room. 

“Jon Arryn is offering up a marriage alliance.” Very well then. She'd expected as much. 

“To whom?” 

Ned clenched his fist and worked his jaw. Never a good sign. “To Ser Jaime Lannister,” he ground out. 

“The Kingslayer!” Lyanna was taken aback. “But he’s a member of the Kingsguard! They serve for life and may never marry!” 

“I said the same thing when they told it to me. The Lord Hand is somewhat wary of a man who kills kings. He has decided to dismiss him.” 

Lyanna was quiet for a few moments. “That’s sure to make Tywin furious.” 

“Mayhaps. Jon Arryn is certain Lord Tywin would agree to near anything to make his eldest son return to the Rock as his heir.” 

“Why in seven hells would he rather have his son disgracefully dismissed from the Kingsguard than have his second son inherit? He does have a second son, no? I thought he had one, what? Ten years ago?” 

“He does have a second son, but there are two problems. The boy, Tyrion, is a dwarf, and what’s more Lady Lannister died birthing him. They say Lord Tywin loathes the boy on both accounts, especially because it has made so many wonder if the child is a bastard of the Mad King.” 

Lyanna was quiet for a moment, contemplating Lady Lannister. Imagine dying in childbirth and all anyone cared was how the babe looked.  _ That could have been me. If I had married Robert, Rhaegar would simply have come to visit his cousins and Summerhall. I might have died in childbirth, and all anyone would care was whether the child had purple eyes or blue. Fools. My children will always be Starks, and no Southron husband’s blood can take that away.  _

“So Ser Jaime Lannister is now the second most eligible young man in the Seven Kingdoms?” 

“The _most_ eligible young man, actually, except for Prince Oberyn. It is the most remarkable thing, sister, but our arrival happens to have fallen shortly after a cause for celebration: Cersei Lannister is to be married to King Robert. Our new king is betrothed.” 

Hope filled Lyanna. “Betrothed to Cersei Lannister? Bless the Gods! She’s prettier than the sun! Now tell me Ned, is Ser Jaime to return to the Rock after our wedding?” 

“I believe it to be so.” 

“And shall we marry before or after Cersei and Robert do?” 

“After. Ser Jaime mustn't miss his sister’s wedding.” 

“A pity. But it will do, my dear brother. Go to your foster father and tell him I will wed the Kingslayer. All the quicker to be out of this infernal city and away from Robert’s eyes!” A smile blazed across Lyanna’s face as Ned had not seen since his youth. Perhaps the heat of the city had finally made his sister gone mad. But Ned went to Jon Arryn and told him he agreed. Cersei Lannister would marry Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark would marry Ser Jaime Lannister, bringing House Lannister into the fold.


	3. A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna meets Jaime. She learns nothing about him and worries about her future.

Lyanna Stark first met her betrothed by pure happenstance wandering the Keep one bright, sunny afternoon. It was always sunny in King’s Landing.

It was a dreadfully boring day, as all days were in King’s Landing. Lady Cersei, who had arrived a fortnight prior, held tea with a grand court of grand ladies in some grand courtyard or another. Ned wanted her to join them, to sit with these grand ladies and talk about silly things. He was worried about her, about the way she would stop and look North sometimes. Lyanna wanted nothing to do with them, and she suspected that they would prefer not to have their company sullied by the Dragon’s Whore. So seeking something to do, she wandered down into the kitchens and sat down in a corner to watch the servants busy themselves with wedding preparations.

Eventually, one of the servants noticed her. “You! Girl!” he called, “Do you have nothing better to do?”

“No.”

“Best make yerself useful,” he said, dumping a pile of laundry into her arms, “Go and bring these to the Kingslayer.” Lyanna took the clothing, glad for something to do, glad the servant had not recognized her. She wanted no trouble from these people, and she was sure some of them did not care for her at all. Lyanna Stark started Robert's Rebellion, whether you believed she was kidnapped or you believe that she went with Rhaegar willingly. Hundreds of people died in this war, if not thousands. How many brothers had these servants lost, how many husbands and fathers and sons? How many of their daughters and wives and mothers and sisters were raped and killed during the Sack? She did not know. She did not want to know. 

Lyanna did not know where Jaime Lannister was staying in the Red Keep. Was he in the White Sword Tower? Or perhaps he was in Lady Cersei’s retinue in Maegor’s Holdfast? She had no way of knowing. She asked a boy carrying swords where the Kingslayer was sleeping. He looked at her very strangely, but told her she could find him in the White Sword Tower, just as all the kingsguard. She thanked him and went in that direction.

Ser Jaime was not in his room in the Tower, thankfully, so she left his clothes on the bed for him to sort out, deciding to return to her rooms. Lyanna and Ned had been given rooms in the Tower of the Hand by Lord Arryn.

Lyanna thought about her son while she walked. Had his eyes settled on a color, one way or another? Was he babbling yet? He would be three months old now. Lyanna knew little and less of infants. When did they begin talking? When did they start walking? She did not know. She’d never know. She wasn’t a mother anymore, if she ever had been. Some other woman was the mother of Jon Snow, and that was the way it needed to be, for Jon’s sake and for her own.

It was lost in these thoughts, not paying particular attention to her surroundings, that Lyanna tripped and fell onto her fiance, Ser Jaime Lannister.

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry!” Lyanna said before looking up into the face of whoever had tripped her. And what a face it was. Oh, Rhaegar had been more beautiful than this boy, but Rhaegar had been cold and sad and guarded. There was none of than it this boy’s face. And he was a boy, Lyanna saw, just as she was still a girl. There was still a hint of youthfulness about his jaw and his cheeks. His eyes were green as new grass, his long hair was spun gold. He looked like the twin of Cersei Lannister ought to look. _The Kingslayer_ , Lyanna realized, _this man is to be my husband_. He would not be the most hideous man she could have been forced to marry. “Are you alright, ser?”

“Oh I’m perfectly fine.” Green eyes in a startled face- he had not been looking where he was going either. What could have him so distracted? He’d killed the man he’d sworn to protect- how could anything in the world bother or upset him after that?

He closed up and turned away. He was not interested in speaking with her. Lyanna wondered if he knew who she was, who she was to be to him. Probably not. Lyanna didn’t recall ever being introduced to Ser Jaime Lannister at the Tourney, or seeing him, and there was never a time she could have seen him other than then, she thought.  

Lyanna craved the Gods. She’d decided to marry this man so quickly, this boy she did not know in the slightest. Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps there were better, faster, easier, less permanent ways of staying out of Robert’s clutches. The last time she’d made a hasty decision to escape Robert, she’d agreed to go with Rhaegar. That certainly ended well for the entire continent. She wanted to pray to her Old Gods, to the weirwood tree in Winterfell. But this was the South and there were no weirwoods here.

But the Old Gods were not so confined to a sept as these new ones were. Any heart tree would do. She turned her feet towards the Godswood.

It was not at all like the Godswood of Winterfell with its weirwood and its still pool and its damp, quiet solitude. The Godswood of the Red Keep was a Godswood, though, with trees and flowers and sunshine. The largest, most central tree was an Oak tree, old and big and strong. There was nowhere to hide here. No one to watch. There was only the Gods.

Lyanna had prayed while she was in the Tower. She prayed to the Gods the night she left, that her father would forgive her for leaving. She prayed to the Gods the night Rhaegar first took her, that no one would look down and see what was happening. She prayed to the Gods when she discovered she was with child and when Rhaegar left her and when the babe finally came and she nearly died on a pallet in a Tower room in the north of Dorne. She prayed when she learned her father and Brandon had died, she prayed when she learned Rhaegar had died, and she prayed until she fell asleep when she learned what had been done to Princess Elia and Rhaegar’s trueborn children.

She prayed now. _Let him be kinder than Robert and better than Robert and sleep in only my bed and never wonder that on the night we wed I do not bleed. Let him never bring me or my children to harm. Let he never allow another woman and her children to be brought to harm. Let him father no bastards and steal no daughters and if our marriage is frosty let him never wonder if I was once burned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a filler chapter. The next one will be Cersei and Robert's wedding.  
> In the meantime, what could have Jaime so very very upset???? Could it possibly be his impending dismissal from the Kingsguard and subsequent marriage to a rando crazy chick he's never met??? Nonsense, that could never be the case.


	4. A Royal Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei marries Robert Baratheon. General snobbery ensues. Cersei POV. Warnings: misogyny, incest, and sex. Honestly, Cersei is her own warning.

Dawn arrives gloriously on King’s Landing the morning of the royal wedding. As dreadful as the city normally is, today it is truly beautiful. Dawn breaks with a riotous flush, the sun rises over the horizon with a triumphant blaze. Voices are excited instead of rough, gold is in the air, and a smile graces near everyone’s face. 

For who would dare shout in the face of Tywin Lannister, especially after the Sack? 

Cersei Lannister would, when she discovered her brother Jaime was not only to be dismissed from the Kingsguard, but he was to be sent home to Casterly Rock! And worst of all- he was being married off to that traitorous, stupid, ugly, conniving  _ bitch _ Lyanna Stark! 

“It’s not  _ FAIR! _ ” Cersei wailed to her father’s impassive face, “I’ll be all alone! You can’t truly mean to keep Jaime and I separated  _ again! _ ” Lord Tywin most definitely did. Or rather- he wanted Cersei in Robert’s bed and he wanted Jaime as heir to the Rock, and it just so happened to be the case that these two desires necessitated the separation of the twins. 

Oh, the cruelties of parenting. 

Eventually, Cersei’s ladies arrived to bathe her and dress her for the day, and Tywin bid his eldest child go marry the king he had promised her. Her ladies rub soap and oils into her skin and lace up her gown. Jaime comes to the door and she dismisses them to speak with her twin in private. 

There's no one around to hear her shout his name. 

"It's not  _fair_ ," Cersei pouts to him when they're done, "You're supposed to stay here, with me, in King's Landing, and we'll make everyone go mad and bow before us!" Jaime doesn't say what he thinks of that, just kisses her shoulder and helps her rearrange her clothes. 

The morning was busy- first, there was the presenting of wedding gifts, which had caused all sorts of happy patronage around the city. Myrish lace, silks colored any number of shades by Tyroshi dyes; a particularly flashy lion-headed dagger was gifted; gem encrusted goblets were presented in boxes cushioned with red velvet. Golden hairnets and silk stockings, a new pair of hunting boots for Robert, Pentoshi spices and cheeses, and there were pelts and furs from the Northern contingent. Panes of colored glass, diamonds, necklaces with emeralds and sapphires. 

Cersei thought the gifts amenable, but she did not think any of the gifts were truly wonderful. She smiled prettily at each one and thanked the giver as courteously as she could, but on the inside she sighed and sneered. No gift compared to the riches of the Rock. No gift pleased her like the feel of Jaime within. 

At last, the endless gift-giving was over, and they made their way to the great Sept of Baelor, towering above it all. 

Cersei’s wedding gown was gold, and so was her hair, and so was her skin. She gleamed in the bright sunlight. She was a vision for all to see as she walked into the Sept.  _ Perfect _ , Cersei thought. 

She wished it could have been Jaime waiting for her at the altar, but Cersei privately reflected that this would perhaps have been a bit much. She loved Jaime with all her body and all of her soul, but he could never be king. He was just a little bit weak. 

Robert was  _ almost _ as handsome as Jaime was, after all, and that would simply have to do. 

Cersei’s bridal cloak is heavy, scarlet beads and a roaring, gilded lion weighing upon her shoulders and tumbling to the floor. Robert takes it from her shoulders, and Cersei shivers for a moment, in the instant between unmarried and married. It’s a queer sort of instant- the only time in her life Cersei has ever been unclaimed. But then Robert tosses the Baratheon cloak over her shoulders, thick and velvety. Cersei and Robert say their vows and a crown is placed upon Cersei’s brow. 

The moment the band of gold touches her forehead, Cersei lights up from the inside out. Robert takes her hand and they stand before their subjects, smiling and waving before thousands of smiling, happy faces. Cheers fill the air for Queen Cersei Baratheon. 

_ Oh _ , Cersei thinks. She understands now. This, this feeling- it’s better than sex, better than sex with  _ Jaime _ , the only thing that had ever made her feel whole. She doesn’t feel whole, but the euphoria- the rush- oh Gods, Gods bless whoever had made all this come to pass! She was queen, queen at last! 

After the wedding is the feast. Fifty courses! Musicians playing all around! Ned Stark scowls into his sixth bowl of soup, his dullard sister frowns at her third kind of fish. Neither cracks a smile for a single ballad. Cersei does not care what they think. Cersei cares not a whit as to who might have starved to make this happen- it’s all too wonderful!

A boar is brought out- a massive, wild thing, which Robert took down himself in the hunt a few days prior. It is cooked perfectly, hot and delicious in her mouth. Sugary sweets and fluffy cakes are brought out and set before her. Each melts upon her tongue and she holds back a moan. The wine she drinks-  _ oh _ , it’s spectacular! She drinks three goblets full of the sweet red wine. 

Robert jokes with the people around them- friends and generals, always paying special attention to his Hand, Lord Jon Arryn, and his dearest friend, Lord Eddard Stark. Cersei doesn’t care for either of them, but at least Lord Eddard is young and strong. 

Lyanna Stark sits with her brother. She’s a whore, Cersei thinks, Rhaegar’s whore. A stupid, stupid  _ bitch _ who has stolen Cersei’s brother.  _ I’ll gut you for that, whore _ . 

Finally, when the night has wound down, the bedding is called. 

It’s dreadful. Men tear at her clothes and clutch at her breasts as the great tide of them sweep her into her new bedchambers. Ned Stark is not in their number. A giggling horde of young women carry Robert off too, Cersei sees. Lyanna Stark is not in their number. Damn Starks don’t know how to live. 

The consummation is very nearly fine. She’s tipsy, Cersei must confess, and Robert is  _ drunk _ , but she’s had worse sex. He touches her breasts some, kisses her deeply enough her loins stir. His body is a good, broad, sturdy thing beneath her hands. All of that makes it nearly pleasant. Of course, his breath stinks and he’s far too heavy on top of her, and she doesn't find her climax, but none of that is what makes it truly awful. 

What makes it truly awful is the name he whispers into her ear as he comes, his seed shooting into her to take root and make kings. 

“Lyanna,” he moans into her summer-colored hair, and Cersei hates them both. 


	5. A Panicked Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Jaime get married. Lyanna is panicking. Two teenagers do the do. The Lannister retinue departs KL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi welcome back to the fic where we hate Rhaegar so FUCKING much :))))  
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: graphic sex (not smut), drunken sex, reference to dubcon/noncon, PTSD, panic attacks, what arguably amounts to marital rape. I think the sex is underage in New York.

The day Lyanna Stark married Ser Jaime Lannister did not dawn bright and shining. There was not gold in every hand, smiles were cautious. The smallfolk were quiet about the wedding- curious, to be sure, but quiet. Lyanna Stark was an unknown quantity- the story kept changing depending who you talked to- and Ser Jaime had killed the king. Shit for honor. Maybe both of them had shit for honor, who was to say? 

Lyanna was attended to by only one maid, a girl named Tysa. Lyanna thought Tysa was very pretty. Tysa’s eyes were hazel and her hair was a dark gold. She was from the Westerlands and had been appointed by Lord Tywin to serve his gooddaughter in King’s Landing and at the Rock. Lyanna thought she must be someone’s bastard or another. When she was done lacing up Lyanna’s gown, Ned knocked on the door and Tysa let him in. He sat with her on the edge of her bed. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, little sister?” Ned asked her.  _ No _ , she thought. This was the furthest thing from what she wanted. She wanted her son at her breast, she wanted her brother always in sight. She did not want to marry this strange boy, this golden boy, this oathbreaker, this murderer, oh Gods oh Gods oh Gods! Lyanna closed her eyes and ducked her head to hide the tears, but Ned saw. 

"Breathe, Lyanna," Ned said to her. Ned pulled her close, running a broad, warm hand through her hair until she was calm enough to get up and go to breakfast. 

“I’ll always be with you, little sister. Even when I am all the way in Winterfell and you are in the heart of the Rock, I’ll always be with you, and I will be but a raven away.” She nodded into his chest and swallowed deep, snotty breaths. It was this or Robert, she told herself. This or forever in the bed of a man who cared only for her breasts and her womb.

There were gifts, but nothing compared to the gifts given to Queen Cersei and King Robert. 

Lyanna Stark’s gown was plain, white, serviceable. No songs would be sung of it or of her. Tysa coiled her hair atop her head. The Stark cloak was sent down from Winterfell, the same cloak Catelyn Tully had been married with. It was thick and warm with fur trimmings. 

Ser Jaime looked very well at the wedding, standing tall and golden above his bride. She looked very pale despite the lingering tan from the Dornish sun, as she had since she’d arrived in King’s Landing, and some wondered why Robert and Rhaegar lusted after her so. A plain, pale, skinny little girl- was this who so many had fought and died to save?

Lyanna cared more about what Ser Jaime thought of her. Could the Kingslayer see the shadows under her eyes this close up? Could he see the evidence of a night of no sleep, tossing and turning in her bed with worry? Oh Gods oh Gods oh Gods--  _breathe, Lyanna_.

Ser Jaime draped the Lannister cloak about Lyanna’s shoulders gently. Ned had told her Lord Tywin had wrapped the bodies of Elia’s babes in Lannister cloaks to hide all the blood. Good Gods, what would Lord Tywin do to Jon if he ever learned? What would Ser Jaime do? He’d killed his king, surely he would have no qualms in murdering that king’s bastard grandchild. Oh Gods oh Gods oh Gods--  _breathe, Lyanna_.

Her bridal cloak was the same one Robert had torn off Cersei’s shoulders. How easy would it be for him to tear the same cloak off of hers? They turned to the Septon and said their vows- vows that were foreign on Lyanna’s tongue but she said anyway- and then they were married. From this day until their last days. 

Jaime and Lyanna were seated next to each other at the feast. The meat was cooked tenderly and the bread was hot when it came from the kitchens, but there was nowhere near the extravagance of Cersei and Robert’s wedding. Lyanna nibbled at each dish in her anxiousness. Ser Jaime imbibed deeply and frequently. The bride and groom barely spoke to anyone, and hardly looked at each other. 

Lyanna knew what she was so preoccupied with, but what could he be thinking? Was he thinking she wasn’t a maid? Rhaegar had probably been in King’s Landing briefly before the Trident- had he told Ser Jaime anything of her? Was Ser Jaime fuming in his seat, enraged he’d been dismissed from the Kingsguard? Did he hate her for agreeing to the match? Did he hate her for causing the war? Did he think her the most hideous woman on the planet? Did he have a lover here in King’s Landing who he would be forced to part from? Would he be cruel in bed tonight? Would he beat her to death tonight? Would he see the scars upon her stomach and decide he didn't want her? Oh Gods oh Gods oh Gods--  _breathe, Lyanna_. 

Finally the bedding was called. A pack of men scooped her up, Robert at the fore. They tore the gown from her body roughly. When Lyanna looked over her shoulder, she saw Tysa step out of the shadows to pick it up off the floor. Good. No sense in wasting a perfectly good dress. 

Lyanna focused on blocking her breasts from greedy hands and her stomach from suspicious eyes. If anyone saw the stretch marks from carrying Jon, she’d be done. She only hoped the Kingslayer would be too drunk to notice. In the morning they’d be married, all the way married. No sense in annulling the marriage then. 

Finally, Lyanna was tossed unceremoniously into a small room in the Queen’s apartments afforded to Ser Jaime until they left King’s Landing. Lyanna picked herself up off the floor and dragged herself into the bed, under the covers. Lyanna pulled her hair out of the coils Tysa had put it up it. Her husband would be along now shortly. 

A giggling troupe of women pushed Ser Jaime into the room, gloriously naked. Lyanna looked up from the bed to see him. He was beautiful, she thought. He was tall, like his sister and his father, but not so tall as Robert. He was tan, like his sister, and he was muscular. Oh, she was sure that Robert’s muscles were bigger, and nothing about him was as defined by years of training as Rhaegar’s body had been. But there was a glory to him- the flat stomach, the wide shoulders, the smooth rippling of his arms as he extended them over his head, the strength of his calves and thighs as he walked to the bed. 

“Hello there, wife,” Jaime said, with a sloppy grin in his face. Lyanna pulled back the covers to invite him in. 

“Hello there, Ser Jaime,” she said. He was drunk. Maybe even as drunk as she hoped he was. He put his hands to the sides of her face and pressed his mouth to hers, sweet and sour and stale from the wine he’d drunk all evening. His hands were long-fingered, like Rhaegar’s. They smoothed through her hair. One hand slipped from her face and down her back, tugging her to him by the waist. She could feel him, hard against her stomach.  _ Good _ , Lyanna thought,  _ at least he finds me attractive _ . She could work with that. 

Jaime pushed her onto her back. She pushed her hands into the thick golden hair at his scalp and pulled his mouth back down to hers. She knew how to do this- how many times had she taken Rhaegar, even when she hated him, even when she desperately wanted to leave, even when the sight of his pale body had turned her stomach? 

Rhaegar had wanted her body, for all she knew he hadn’t loved her. Rhaegar had played the saint, said he was doing it to save the world, but she knew the truth. Rhaegar had wanted the child her body could give him, but that meant he just wanted her body, pure and simple. After all, Princess Elia could likely still have given him the daughter he so desperately wanted if only he’d waited a little longer.. Any woman could certainly have. 

She knew how to make a man love her. That was her best hope- make him love her. Maybe he wouldn't cast her away then, even if he found out the truth.

Jaime ran a hand over her body, familiarizing himself with her. If he felt the scars on her stomach, he did not show it, only continued until his hands found her breasts, her hips. His lips pulled away from hers, a mouth pressed against her jaw, his tongue found its way to her neck. He tugged her legs apart to settle between them, heavy in the exact same way that Rhaegar had been. His face came away from her neck when she tugged at his hair, bringing his lips back to hers. Her new husband knocked his nose against hers, clumsily, and sank into her. Lyanna pretended to gasp, in case he recalled all this in the morning. It wasn’t entirely faked, either- he did hurt, a little bit. Whoever he’d been fucking- and he was no maid, of that she was sure now- had apparently always been wet when he’d taken her.  

It hurt, just a little bit more than she remembered it hurting with Rhaegar those last few times. Time had dulled those last few times in her mind. It didn't hurt as much as when Jon had been born, though. Nothing compared to the pain she’d felt when Jon had come. 

Her husband held himself up above her as he rutted between her legs, his grunts of exertion and the sound of skin on skin filling the air. She dug her fingers into his hair every time a thrust hit her in a particularly uncomfortable way, biting her lip to keep from whimpering in pain. He was probably too drunk to care whether he was hurting her. But it wasn’t rough, the way Rhaegar had been the few times he’d gotten angry. Nothing brutal, just indifferent. Apathetic.

Finally, he came with a shout, his shoulders buckling a bit as he slumped onto her, too tired to keep holding himself up. There was a name somewhere in the shout, but Lyanna didn’t care to remember it. Jaime’s breath was hot and stale, his face tucked into the juncture between her neck and her shoulder. She carded her hands through his hair. It was over now. Thank the Gods, it was done with. She was Lady Lyanna Lannister, the future lady of the Rock. Perhaps she carried the next heir within her even now. She drifted off to sleep with prayers to the Gods.  _ Please, please, please, let this night be the night I conceive a second son. A strong son. A Stark son. _

The next morning, Lyanna woke to Tysa opening the door of their chambers and bustling about. She was warm in the bed, her husband still asleep. Over the course of the night he’d mostly migrated off of her. Lyanna ran a hand over her face and through her hair, sitting up in the bed they’d been given. Her hair must be a mess. Slowly she stood and made her way over to a chair with her clothing for the day already laid out as she’d instructed Tysa. Lyanna pulled her shift over her head and let out a sigh of relief. She was covered from her husband's sight.

Lyanna wasn't worried about Tysa seeing. Tysa had seen her stretch marks accidentally when she’d been in the bath a few days ago. Lyanna had flailed around in the tub, desperately trying to get to her maid. Tysa had stretched out a hand towards her to calm her down.

“I won’t tell Lord Tywin,” Tysa had said. 

“Why not?” Lyanna had demanded, terrified. Tysa could have torn it all down for her if she’d wanted. She could run to Lord Tywin, tell him the Starks were selling him used goods. 

“You’re my mistress, my lady,” Tysa had said, “I won't betray you. This is likely as good a position as I'll ever get, and that goes away if you do.” 

Ultimately, Lyanna had deemed Tysa trustworthy. Or at least, relatively unlikely to sell her out. Lyanna wanted her to be trustworthy. Lyanna was going west with no friends, no family. If she had even one person who would help her she would be better off. 

Tysa helped Lyanna clean herself with a wet cloth and a basin of clean water. It wasn’t much, but Lyanna didn’t have time for a proper bath and she didn’t want to risk her husband catching sight of her in the bath. Lyanna’s clothes were made for riding- Lyanna insisted she would ride out of King’s Landing herself. 

“I’ve been riding since I was still a babe,” she’d argued, “My father used to say I rode before I ran. They used to say I was a centaur, back in Winterfell.” 

Eventually Ser Jaime stirred in his bed with a groan, the wine from last night probably doing something terrible to his head. A manservant- or perhaps a squire?- came into the room and helped her husband through the process of waking up and preparing to leave. 

“Good morning, Ser,” Lyanna murmured to him from where she sat in front of a mirror plaiting her hair. He'd blinked slowly at her, remembering who she was and why she was there, and what was happening today.

“Good morning to you, my lady.” They said nothing more to each other, still strangers despite the events of the day before. 

They were ready to leave at the same time. They made their way to the courtyard to say their goodbyes to their respective families.

Little Tyrion Lannister was already ahorse, waiting for them, all eleven years of him. He’d come east for his sister’s wedding, though Lyanna didn’t recall seeing him much at the royal wedding. Perhaps he’d gone exploring. He sat upon a horse, the same as everyone else. His saddle, Lyanna saw, was some sort of complicated thing to support his back and his short legs. 

Her goodsister Queen Cersei embraced her, kissed her cheek and called her “sister”. Lyanna did not trust that at all. The Queen's green eyes were too sharp, her smile a bit too wide. Lyanna kissed her cheek and her hand and stepped away from her, glad she was leaving the city today.

Lyanna sank into the arms of her brother, wishing he could go with her. Ned had told her he planned to stay in King’s Landing for a few more days before making his way to Winterfell. 

“I have a wife I scarcely know waiting for me up north,” Ned had said, a worried look on his face. Lyanna had met the new Lady Stark once while visiting Riverrun. Catelyn Tully was a few years older than Lyanna, the same age as Ned, and Lyanna recalled her being wide-hipped and large-chested but still oh so slender. Pretty. She’d seemed intelligent, too. Lyanna hoped she’d make Ned a good wife. Lyanna hoped Catelyn Stark had enough mercy in her heart to treat Lyanna’s son better than Lyanna would have in her place. 

Lyanna and Jaime mounted their horses and the little Lannister retinue made their way out of the Red Keep, out of King’s Landing, headed west.  _ Thank the Gods.  _ She was leaving this cursed city at last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG chapter.  
> Oh hey Tyrion's a character and he was at Cersei's wedding snooping around looking for dragon skulls.  
> Tysa is MY character and I've decided that she's gonna be super helpful and shit because LYANNA NEEDS FRIENDS. She's fifteen??? She's a Hill. I'll figure out who her parents are later.   
> For anyone wondering where Tywin went, he left King's Landing immediately after his daughter's wedding. By the time this chapter happens, he's already back at the Rock


	6. En Route to Casterly Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Jaime travel along the Gold Road and arrive at Casterly Rock, where Lyanna is less than impressed with the Godswood. Jaime POV!

“Is there a Godswood in Casterly Rock?” Lyanna asked her husband one day as they rode. Ser Jaime looked up, startled by the sound of her voice. They’d hardly spoken since leaving King’s Landing. Jaime wasn't sure if that was a decision on his part or on hers, but it had been made nonetheless. 

“Yes. Once Casterly Rock was ruled by First men. They had a Godswood. It’s still there, but any weirwoods have long since been put to the torch.” Lyanna nodded at that. Jaime imagined she'd been given some schooling on all the Seven Kingdoms, but most of this education had likely been directed towards the Stormlands. Jaime sincerely doubted Rickard Stark had ever expected his darling daughter would run off to Dorne with the Crown Prince and consequently be married off to the disgraced heir to the Westerlands. If he had expected it, he never would've gone to King's Landing to die. 

“There wasn’t a Godswood at the Tower,” Lyanna said. Jaime nodded. A remote tower in the Red Mountains of Dorne, uninhabited but for three Kingsguard, a prince, and a little girl. Perhaps there had been a little Sept at the base of the Tower where his brothers had slept, but there certainly hadn’t been a Godswood. What trees even grew in that part of Dorne? Jaime had no idea. His education certainly had never focused on the Red Mountains of Dorne and the trees native to that area. Mayhaps Tyrion had read a book on the subject. 

The Lannister retinue had chosen to take the most direct route to Casterly Rock, the Golden Road. For awhile they’d always been able to see the Blackwater from where they camped, but now they were nearing the Westerlands. Deep Den would be the first true holdfast they’d seen since the Crownlands. The Lyddens held Deep Den, if he recalled correctly. 

Inns and villages were few and far between here. Jaime didn’t know why, wasn’t sure why it was so sparsely populated. His wife didn’t seem to mind the lack of beds. She liked the fresh air. She liked riding astride her horse, liked wearing trousers. She liked racing her horse, too, had done it a couple times. Her maid, a fair girl of about fifteen, didn’t hold her mistress’s fine taste. She was skittish around the horses. Jaime guessed she was born and raised in Lannisport. A city lass, suspicious of the wide open places. That amused Jaime. There were far more horrible people in cities, if only because there were far more people in cities period. 

Tyrion didn’t particularly appreciate all this camping business either. He was young, and his back and legs were no doubt sore from riding so much. Lyanna seemed to be friendly with Tyrion. Jaime supposed he ought to be grateful his wife wasn’t such a complete bitch as to hate Tyrion for what he couldn’t control. 

Good Gods, his  _ wife _ . 

He’d never wanted a wife! All Jaime had ever wanted was to be a knight of the Kingsguard, to have songs sung of his heroic deeds, to fuck Cersei until she screamed with joy. Three things he could not have now. Curse Jon Arryn, curse Robert Baratheon, and especially curse his father! He’d saved half a million people and what did he get for it? Just a plain little wife who’d doubtless lost her maidenhead long before she ever laid eyes on him. 

He hadn’t touched her since their wedding night. He had no desire to- he wanted Cersei and a soft bed, not this strange woman. And she was very strange. 

To be certain, there were marks in her favor. But he'd noticed she didn’t talk much to anyone other than Tyrion and her maid. She ate her meals quickly and retired to her own tent, away from all the others. When she did speak, it was to ask about the local wildlife, something Jaime knew very little about, and something her Lannister guards also knew little about. They had all lived closer to the coast than to the mountains. Tyrion was the only one who knew such things, which was no doubt why she was so kind to his brother. She liked to ride apart from the rest of their little retinue, racing ahead until her horse finally tired. 

She was nothing at all like Cersei. Cersei was never quiet. Cersei rode like a proper lady, and even then preferred to ride in a wheelhouse or some such. Cersei did not care about the wildlife around them unless it was going to hurt her or get her dirty. Cersei would not tolerate the companionship of Tyrion nor the company of her maid. His thoughts turned to the last time he'd seen his sweet, sweet sister. 

Cersei had sneered at Jaime the day of his wedding. “Go marry your little Northern whore, brother. I’ll stay here with my king, let him take me until I give him sons who are kings just like him.” She’d said it in a rage, furious with him. As if this were all his idea. "I'll scream his name every night so loud they'll hear me in Yi Ti!" It was all their father’s fault and she knew that. "You won't even fight him!" But Tywin had left King’s Landing the day after Cersei’s wedding, presumably not caring about his son’s wedding other than that it happened and was consummated. "She has no maidenhead to speak of and they dare give her to  _you_? As if she could possibly be worthy!" Cersei couldn’t yell at their father, so she yelled at him. Jaime had stewed all through the wedding feast, getting progressively more drunk until the bedding had been called. 

He didn’t remember the bedding very well, just that his wife's body had been soft under his, that her lips had tasted sweet even in their bruising force, that he’d left his seed deep within her. Had he called Cersei’s name? If he had, his wife made no sign of it. She looked at him without disgust, only caution, like she worried if she looked at him too long he'd decide to rape her every night. He wondered at that. Had Rhaegar truly been so bad as all that? Jaime remembered Rhaegar as nothing but beautiful and strong the day he’d left for the Trident. 

That was something Jaime supposed he and his wife had in common: Rhaegar had left them both alone. 

After days and days of riding, they passed into the hospitality of Deep Den, and then into the shadow of the Rock. 

Jaime was pleased to see the look of surprise on his wife’s face- not much seemed to illicit a reaction out of her, but a mile high castle and a bustling port city would probably be just the thing. Casterly Rock was far higher than the Red Keep and Lannisport was a large city. 

“A bit larger than you’re used to, my lady?” Jaime asked her nonchalantly. She nodded at him, but not without sending him a side-eyed glance that told him she’d caught the innuendo he’d made. 

(Not that he cared how big Rhaegar’s cock had been. Not at all…)

Their little retinue rode through the gates to Casterly Rock where they were greeted by his family: his father, his uncles and aunts, his more mobile cousins. Jaime dismounted from his horse and bowed to his lord father. 

“Father,” he intoned, “It would be my honor to introduce you to my wife, Lady Lyanna Lannister.” Lyanna dismounted from her horse and sank down into a deep curtsey before his father. Jaime could not help but note how utterly ridiculous a curtsey looked when the one curtseying wore no vast skirts. 

“My lord,” Lyanna murmured to his father. She straightened up at last and Jaime went about introducing his various relatives to her: steady Uncle Kevan and Aunt Dorna, with little Lancel at their feet; Aunt Genna, who terrified all, her oldest children no doubt hiding in the castle with their father; stormy Uncle Tygett and Aunt Darlessa; jocular Uncle Gerion. Lyanna politely bowed her dark head to each of them, courtesies flying from her mouth that Jaime could not help but suspect felt alien to her. 

Finally, when all the introductions were concluded, servants came forward at Aunt Genna’s behest to escort Jaime and Lyanna to their chambers. 

Aunt Genna had chosen for them rooms that were close to each other, but very definitely separated. It would be no trouble to sleep in the same bed every night, but it would also be no trouble to largely ignore one another’s existence. Aunt Genna was clever like that. Cersei didn't think Aunt Genna was clever, but she thought Tyrion was more stupid than a worm and that wasn't the case either. 

The first thing Jaime did when he got to his room was sit down on the soft feather bed. The second thing he did was order a bath. He stank of mud, sweat, and horse from traveling for so long. 

After his bath (and  _ Gods _ , he’d needed that) Jaime was startled by a soft tapping at his door. When he opened it, his wife stood on the threshold, also freshly clean. 

“My apologies, Ser, but would you terribly mind showing me where the Godswood it?” Jaime nodded. He had nothing better to do, and if he showed her now she wouldn’t need to ask him later. 

The Godswood of Casterly Rock was in a courtyard at the top of the mountain. It was more a garden than anything else. Uncle Gerion had told him once that while Jaime’s grandfather Tytos had lived, crystals had hung from the branches of the Godswood trees, but Lord Tywin had ordered those be taken down once he became lord. Lord Tywin had little patience for Godswoods, and less for crystals and rainbows. Lord Tywin was not a particularly devout man, Jaime had often thought. 

Once, Jaime had believed in the Warrior and the Maiden, the Mother and the Father, the Smith and the Crone and the Stranger. Once, but no more. Jaime’s gods had burned with Rickard Stark and all the rest. 

Lyanna looked around the little courtyard in something hinging on disapproval. It was small, with pathways and benches, and neat little flower beds and columns. Jaime wondered what the Godswood was like in Winterfell. 

His wife sighed. “It’s not ideal, but I suppose it will do.” Jaime wasn’t certain how to respond to that, some innate Lannister pride rising to defend the little garden. 

“What about it isn’t ideal?” He asked her, curious and a little angry. 

“I can’t feel the Gods here, Ser Jaime. All of this,” she gestured around her, “is just for show. At least in the Godswood in the Red Keep I could feel Them. But this is merely a garden for ladies to pray in, a play yard for children to pick flowers and practice at belief. There is no heart tree here, no strong trees or deep roots to carry my words to the Gods. This is a child’s version of a Godswood. But I’ll take this Godswood over none at all.” She knelt down before the oldest, largest tree, and Jaime silently left her there to pray. What a strange woman he’d married. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister is bi okay. Go check out icesalamander's art on tumblr.


	7. Letters I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News from Winterfell, news from the Rock.

_To my dear sister, Lady Lyanna Lannister,_

_I suppose I must needs accustom myself to calling you by that title. How strange it seems to attach it to your person, Lya. You are not at all the sort of woman that appears in my head when I think the words “Lady Lannister.” And yet it is now your name, so I must stop looking about in confusion whenever my wife speaks of you._

_Lady Catelyn is a wonder, sister. She is beautiful and gracious and truly quite clever. At times I glance over to see her and wonder how this marvel can possibly be my wife. And then I remember Brandon and I wish to weep. This woman was not meant to be mine, sister, and I cannot help but feel she deserves a far more interesting husband than the one she got. Perhaps he might have given her less grief._

_Robb, as my lady wife has named our son, has his mother’s looks. He is quite charming, as all babes are, but with the addition of having a certain magnanomy to him I think must surely be lacking in other children. A few days hence he gave a few of his blocks to Jon when the boy’s tower was not as tall as he wished it. I pray that is a sign that they will grow to be close. Certainly, they are close in age and any brothers so similar in age must be close, but my lady wife does not like Jon (as one must expect in such a situation) and I worry she may try to keep the two apart when they are older. I hope not. It would be beneficial for Robb to have blood he his close to whom he might trust when they become men._

_Jon is well. His eyes have settled on a color since you saw him last. They are grey. He is also quite charming, but more reserved than Robb. Wylla says his quietness is clearly my doing. Yes, I think does take after his father in regards to his general mood. He is a sweet child. Where Robb graciously shares blocks, Jon gives out hugs. Robb was upset about a fortnight hence and though Jon is not truly one to show affection, he offered Robb an embrace. I think he must have some of his mother there. It brings me great comfort to think his mother shall always be with me through him._

_That is how the children are faring. How is my most beloved sister, though? How is the Rock? Is there a Godswood to speak of? Are the Lannisters to leonine for you? Is your husband much changed since I last saw him in King’s Landing. If he’s hurt you, I shall call the banners and march down from Winterfell myself. How are you finding the servants there? You must not leave me to my queries or my mind shall run away with me and I shall assume all the Lannisters are in fact skinchangers and they ate you for supper your first night there. If that were the case, I would_ have _to call the banners. Don’t provoke me to call the banners. The Mormonts are still disgruntled and they suffered the fewest casualties of any of the Northern houses, I think._

_Your brother,_

_Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North._

 

_To my brother, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell,_

_I concur. My new title is a strange thing indeed and your title is as well._

_I give my eternal gratitude for your missive, brother. I am quite diverted by hearing of my nephews’ antics. The news of Jon is treasured. He was so little when I last saw him and I grew quite fond of the boy on our journey to King’s Landing. I beg you send word of him in each raven you send, for I cannot bear not knowing how he is faring. Robb sounds enchanting. I hope all your children with Lady Catelyn will be of a similar temper. Wolfblood has only ended in tragedy these recent years. I pray none of your children are burdened with it. Mine most likely will be. Between my husband and I, there will be no choice in the matter, most like._

_I bring tidings on that front, dear brother. Four moons hence I married Ser Jaime Lannister. My moonblood has not come in all that time. After I pen this, I shall go to the Maester to send it and to confirm my suspicions, but I shall tell you now that I believe you will be an uncle before the new year. I have yet to tell my husband what I suspect. I find myself recalling a story of a man who laid with a maid until she bore his child unwillingly and when she told him she was with child he made her dance until she fell down dead. I hope my husband will be pleased, but not so pleased as that man._

_Ser Jaime treats me quite well, Ned, or at least I believe he would if he were in my presence for long enough to treat me in any way good or bad. He drinks at mealtimes and we retire to separate rooms every night. He spends a great deal of his time in the training yard or with his father and uncles. Ser Jaime is upset with Lord Tywin. I can only assume it is because he agreed so readily to my husband’s dismissal from the Kingsguard and subsequent marriage to me…_

_Ser Jaime’s aunts fill my days. The Lannister women’s court is a pride of lions, brother. Lady Genna terrifies me. I am not the only one, either- her husband cringes at the sound of her voice and the dark of her shadow. Lady Genna may very well be a skinchanger from Old Nan’s stories; she looks at me as if she means to eat me. Lady Dorna and Lady Darlessa are less terrifying, but their company fills me with dread nonetheless. In truth, I look forward to having a child to take me away from them. If this is to be my lot in life, better my days be spent in the company of a chattering infant than a domineering Sothron lady._

_I confess I do not fully trust the servants here apart from my maid Tysa. She knows certain particulars about my time under that monster. The other servants all serve my husband’s family and I fear them, though I wish I did not._

_My goodbrother Tyrion has been a most pleasant surprise. The boy is eleven, and though he is very small and lacks the good looks of most of his family, he makes up for it in sheer brain power and curiosity. He has read all sorts of books about all sorts of things. If it were up to me, I’d have the boy sent to the Citadel that he may rise high within the ranks of the Maesters. He is absurdly clever. If he were to become a Maester, he might one day even become Grand Maester and serve one of his nephews in King’s Landing. I suggested this to Ser Jaime, but he says his father would never allow it. Mayhaps when my husband is Lord of Casterly Rock Tyrion will go to Oldtown._

_I find I am learning about my husband largely through his brother’s eyes and words. Ser Jaime is very fond of his brother and nearly all the time we spend together is in his company. I quite like the man I see with Tyrion. Mayhaps I shall grow to love him, especially if he is the same way with our own children._

_Do you think you and Lady Catelyn shall have more children? Mayhaps she will be more fond of young Jon if she has other children. I pray she treats Jon well or I may be caught between your affection for her and my loyalty to my nephew. He is so young and has no family but for you and Benjen in Winterfell. I pray he does not feel the loss of his mother too deeply yet. I think that too great a burden for one so young._

_I long for the Godswood at Winterfell. There is a Godswood here, but I find it superfluous. It is merely for show. The Gods disdain such an empty little thing. I wonder if I may induce you to send some weirwood seeds along with your next letter, that I may grow my own little saplings. I am sure I would feel more at piece just to see white trunk and red leaves again. I have not seen a weirwood in years._

_Do write me with further stories of the children._

_Your sister,_

_Lady Lyanna Lannister, Daughter of Winterfell._


	8. Lyanna Is With Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An immediate follow-up to the last chapter. Lyanna is pregnant. Filler. Jaime POV.

Jaime’s sword arm ached when he finally put down his steel. He wanted to keep going, but his arm was getting tired and the dying sun was lighting up the courtyard as if to say he’d trained enough. He’d been brutally punishing the straw dummy all afternoon, worked into a rage by a conversation he’d had with his father. He couldn’t remember what it’d been about now- nothing important, surely, but it had made him seethe nonetheless. Not that making Jaime angry was terribly difficult these days. He’d been angry since Harrenhal and he doubted he would stop being angry any time soon. 

Jaime pushed sweaty hair out of his eyes as he went to put away his sword. The training courtyard was all but deserted that time of day. No squires nor knights nor guards wanted to fight the Kingslayer today. They never did, and it made him angry. 

“Ser Jaime,” came a voice from the shadows, “supper will be ready soon.” Jaime looked around for the source of the voice. It was his wife. Her eyes were taking in the empty training yard, the sword in his hand. 

“My lady,” he said, nodding his head, expecting her to turn to leave. Instead she stood there, waiting for him. “Did you wish to speak with me about something?” 

She folded her hands before her and ducked her head. “I did. In private. Before we go to supper and you fall too deep into your cups for us to hold a conversation.” Ser Jaime said nothing to that. His wife’s barbs, Jaime had found, had a tendency to be quite nearly blunt. Jaime nodded his assent and followed her to their chambers where he began to change into fresh clothes for supper. It would not do to appear in his sweat stained clothes; Aunt Dorna would throw a fit. 

His wife looked away from him as he changed, preferring to fix her eyes to various places around the room. “Shy?” he jabbed, “I warrant it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” A blush stole up her face at that, her jaw tightening. They hadn’t spoken of Rhaegar yet, but then they hadn’t spoken of much of anything. Jaime didn’t think he’d even told her he knew she wasn’t a maid on their wedding night. 

He turned to face his wife with a clean doublet laced up. He took a moment to look over his wife. He vaguely recognized the dress she wore as one of the ones she’d worn in King’s Landing. It was a bit tight around the breasts and stomach, like she’d gained weight in the time they’d been married. Jaime didn’t know what that said about Rhaegar; Lyanna ate small amounts of food very quickly at mealtimes. Shadows hung beneath her eyes, making a sad, solemn face seem sadder. 

“What is it you wished to speak of, my lady?” 

His wife’s small hands folded upon her stomach. “We’ve been married four moons now, Ser Jaime.” 

“I’m well aware of it.” 

“In that time you and I have laid together only the once- on the night of our wedding.” Jaime looked at his wife incredulously. Was that what she wished to speak to him about? Whether he was going to  _ fuck _ her again? He had no desire to do so. Laying with her the once had been enough of a betrayal as it was. 

“Is that what you wished to speak to me about? Whether I plan to fuck you again?” She reared back a little at that.

“No, Ser Jaime,” she said, “What I wished to tell you was that I haven’t bled in those four months!” That startled him. 

“Do you mean to say-” he stopped, gesturing toward her belly. 

“I’ve had my suspicions, but I hadn’t wanted to say anything four the first several months. Many babes are lost in the early stages of pregnancy, especially in women as young as I. I went to the Maester this afternoon and he confirmed it. I am with child, Ser.” 

Jaime stood stock still, his brain trying to fathom something to say, something to feel. “How in Seven Hells are we that lucky?” he finally said. 

“To make up for all the rest of it, most like.” Her grey eyes were searching him for something. Approval? Did she want approval. 

“This is wonderful news!” He finally mustered up the brains to say. “Shall we announce it to my family at supper tonight?” 

Relief made her shoulders sag. “I have no objections to that.” Why was she relieved at his reaction? It would be out of character for him to beat her for falling pregnant and it wasn’t as if he’d picked her up and spun her around like some men did upon being told of an heir on its way. 

“My father will be pleased,” he said, casting around for something else to say to her. How did most men react to this news? Did she  _ want _ him to pick her up and swing her around? 

“Yes, I imagine he will be. Mayhaps this will cease certain unpleasantness at mealtimes.” 

“That must be some comfort for you.” All too often his father or one of his aunts would make a biting remark in Lyanna’s direction that they’d been told by their servants that he and his wife hadn’t laid together since they’d come to the Rock. 

“It will be. It will be.” She ducked her head again. “Shall we go to supper, my lord?” 

“That seems to be an excellent idea.” He escorted her to dinner with his mind swirling. 

A child? He still felt half a boy- neither of them had even twenty namedays to them. As his wife had said, they’d only laid together once. It seemed impossible that he should have begotten a child on her so quickly. He hardly even recalled the begetting itself! 

Would it be a boy? A girl? Stark coloring or Lannister coloring or- would it be a mixture of the two? Would they be short or tall, glorious or plain, clever or slow, strong or weak? Would they be able to keep up with their Uncle Tyrion (Gods!) or would they prefer swinging a sword with their father or would they prefer governing like their grandfather? 

What if they were exactly like both of their parents, the sort of people who accidentally burned down the realm?  _ Mother have mercy _ , Jaime thought, though it’d been a long time since the Mother Above had answered his prayers. 

One babe or two? Twins were not uncommon in House Lannister. If it was twins, would they be like him and Cersei? Gods, he hoped not. He loved Cersei with all his being and could never feel shame or disgust for what went on between them, but he'd hate for his children to be like them all the same. 

What would Cersei think when she heard the news? From the way she’d spoken the day of his wedding, she wouldn’t care a bit. But he knew his twin better than anyone in the world, and that part of him knew she’d be angry. She’d be furious. She'd likely pitch a fit and burn King's Landing down. 


	9. Pregnancy Sucks BALLS, Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna hates being pregnant. I educate on why pregnancy sucks. The Old Gods are TRIPPY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood, seriously trippy dreams, and discussion of pregnancy. Mentions of possible past starvation.  
> Just for the record, I wrote this while watching Kenneth Brannagh's King Henry V it is amazing and it's on Amazon Prime it's so GOOD UGH!!! Young Emma Thompson would make a very good Margaery, I strongly recommend using her as a fancast for the little Rose Queen :)

Lyanna hated being pregnant. She’d been so caught up in desperately needing this child- to protect herself- that she’d clean forgotten just how heavy the weight of another human being was on her spine. She was long past the stage where she threw up every morning, but that was the only good thing about being near the babe’s birth. Her stomach had swollen to an absurd size in the past several months, a far greater size than she'd reached with Jon, and her ankles and breasts had swollen with it. The trail of hair between her belly button and her lower lips- usually the same color as her arm hair- now grew dark as her eyebrows. At least there was a reason now for her stretch marks. The lie had been told in full, and no one would suspect the truth now. 

To be sure, there were some benefits to being so fully swollen with child- Lady Genna and Lord Tywin had stopped sending certain disapproving glares at her during mealtimes; most guards averted their gazes from hers where before they may have leered at her; her husband’s conversation had been light and pleasant, coolly interested in her health and the babe’s. Yet it all rankled her, striking her as a deep injustice. She didn’t like that none of them had cared whit about her  _ before _ her stomach had grown to an astronomical size. Lyanna was little more than a broodmare to these people, to Westeros. 

Tysa and little Tyrion were the only ones Lyanna could truly stand in this wretched mountain. Tysa brought her hot, damp towels and whichever food it was she was craving. That was very different from how it’d been in the Tower. There’d been little food anyway, certainly they hadn’t had the stores to indulge a pregnant woman’s fickle urges. Lyanna wondered if that was why she was so much larger this time. 

Tysa kept making her drink milk and eat bitter, leafy vegetables. “Why are you making me eat this?” she’d asked her maid petulantly the third week of this. 

“I have two brothers and three sisters, my lady, but  _ my _ mother never lost any teeth. Most women do when they are with child- you know that.” Lyanna had nodded. She’d damn near lost her head the day she’d lost that tooth. Teeth do not simply fall out of a perfectly healthy young woman’s mouth. 

“Aye, I grant you that’s the case.” 

“Well, my mother had a secret to it. She always ate greens and drank milk whenever she was with child. My mother’s had six children and not a single tooth lost in all the lot.” 

Lyanna had looked at Tysa very seriously at that. “So eat my greens or lose my teeth? Thank you Tysa, I choose the latter.” Tysa continued bringing her this dreadful fare anyway, so she kept eating it. After the Tower, she’d be loath to not eat anything set before her. 

Tyrion seemed absolutely  _ fascinated _ by his new nephew or niece. He asked her all sorts of questions- when would the babe come, how had she known she was with child before her stomach had swelled, was the babe very heavy, what would the babe look like, would the babe be like him, could he play with it when it was born? On and on the questions drones, filling up Lyanna’s days. She didn’t know how to answer some of them, but she answered them all as truthfully as she could. 

What Lyanna hated most about being with child was how she couldn’t  _ move _ anymore. Where before she’d wandered the Rock on occasion, making herself accustomed to her new home, now she found that stairs tired her and standing or sitting for too long made her back ache. Before she’d hoped of figuring some way into the wood just beyond the Rock- now she kept as much to her chambers as possible. She’d hoped that wood could be a sort of sanctuary, a place to perhaps practice the sword again. Lyanna hadn’t gone near one since Harrenhal but it made her feel stronger to hold a sword in her hand.  _ Nevermind it _ , Lyanna scolded herself whenever shouts from the training yard floated her way,  _ there’ll be time enough for it after the babe _ . 

She spent a good deal of time in the Godswood now. Ned had sent weirwood seeds with his last raven, as she’d requested. Lyanna planted them in the soil of the Godswood herself and pricked her finger with a needle, letting her blood fall to the earth and nourish the seeds. Northern blood was what they needed, Lyanna could feel it in her.  _ Drink _ , she told the weirwood trees.  _ Drink and grow, that you may witness all and hear my prayers for I am alone in this strange mountain with no one of the North beside me _ .

That night as Lyanna laid in her bed, a dream came upon her. A weirwood tree grew in the midst of the Rock’s Godswood, tall and pale, with no face yet carved into it. A little crowd stood around the tree, more than two but fewer than ten. Two stepped forward from the crowd, a boy and a girl, each with brassy hair and eerie green eyes. Each held a dagger in their hand. They laid their hands flat next to each other and dragged the knives across their palms. Blood welled from the cuts, a mingled silver and gold. Each squeezed their hand over a goblet brought before them, then took up the dagger in their injured hand. They set the dagger to the smooth white trunk of the tree and  _ carved _ . Red sap oozed from the tree as they cut and the sap mixed with the blood in their knife-wielding hands. A face appeared upon the tree, old and familiar. The tree opened its carved closed eyes and turned towards her. Its mouth fell open, sap and then blood falling from the great maw. 

“ **_LYANNA_ ** ,” boomed the tree, and Lyanna awoke, terrified by what she’d dreamed but also oddly comforted. 

“Was that you?” Lyanna whispered to her child, placing her hand upon her stomach. “Was that- the two of you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah they're having twins it's dope.  
> Hey, did y'all know that it used to be that most women would lose 1 tooth per pregnancy because they didn't have enough calcium in their diets and the fetuses need their calcium so GUESS YOU'RE GONNA LOSE A TOOTH MOM.  
> You learn something new every day!!!


	10. The Labor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The babies are coming! Hooray! Hooray! The babies are coming! Hooray! Hooray!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never undergone child birth and have always contrived to not be in school on the day I have to learn about it in health class :) If it seems unrealistic, that's why. Let me know how I can fix it. X.  
> Warnings: depiction of childbirth, hallucinations, reference to isolation and abuse.   
> I sorta imply that Lyanna was in labor with Jon for a WHILE before Arthur got Wylla to come. I might change that.   
> Without further ado, let us watch Lyanna murder Jaime's hand.

Jaime’s hand screamed for release but his wife screamed louder. 

The babe- babes, Lyanna insisted- came a few weeks earlier than the maester had guessed, but Jaime had been assured that it would be fine. It was perfectly normal for a babe to be born a little earlier than projected. This was normal. This was fine. 

_ If it’s fine _ , Jaime thought as his wife let out a helpless sob,  _ then why is she in so much pain? If this is normal, why by the Seven would any woman bear children more than once? _

It was hard to watch, but Jaime knew his duty to his wife. This was his son, his daughter- it mattered not his feelings for the mother, this was his child and the mother of his child and he’d be damned if he didn’t help the woman through it. 

Another spasm of pain shot through his wife. She clenched his hand a little harder, which Jaime had not thought was possible. “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!” Lyanna screamed into his face. It was indeed his fault- why else would he be here? Jaime reached out the hand she didn’t have in a death grip to smooth back a sweat-dampened strand of dark hair. 

“I know it is, little wife,” Jaime murmured. Was he supposed to believe that married couples could remain in love after the birth of a child- and then  _ go on to have more? _ The level of pain Lyanna was in must have been astronomical. Any husband who demanded his wife give birth more than once was a tyrant, Jaime was convinced of it. To be certain, most lords did not deign to sit with their wives through the birth so they would not have any real idea first hand, but  _ Gods _ , what monsters. And if a man had children and then tried to convince  _ another _ woman to bear his child, then he was a monster twice over. He winced as his hand was crushed in her grip once more. 

“I did warn you, my lord,” whispered his wife’s maid. She- (Tysa?)- laid a cloth over Lyanna’s head. The girl was grim-faced, but didn’t look at all surprised by the travesty that had been made of her mistress.  _ Like as not she has younger siblings and helped deliver them _ . She had warned him, when he came into the room. 

As soon as Jaime had heard the babe was coming, Jaime had come straight to his wife’s chambers. “Let me through!” Jaime had yelled, trying to get into the room. His wife was on the bed, her knees apart, surrounded by midwives. Only the best for Lord Tywin’s heir. 

One of these well-meaning midwives tried to stop him at the door. “This is no place for a man, my lord. This is Lady Lannister’s battle, not yours.” Jaime had drawn himself up to his full height and loomed over the woman. 

“And which of you intends to stop me?” Jaime had asked, low and dangerous. Jaime had let a wicked gleam enter his eye. He was still the Kingslayer, though the Kingsguard mantle had been torn from his shoulders. The woman had fallen silent and none of them dared to question him. The girl had brought over a chair for him to sit in beside her. 

“This won’t be pleasant, my lord,” Tysa had murmured, “Lady Lannister is in agonizing pain. I grant she needs you and you want to be here, but most men find themselves frightened by the birthing bed.” 

“I am an anointed knight. I have fought in the battle field and broken sacred oaths. What more can scare me, girl?” 

“The battlefield is not the birthing bed,” she’d said with remarkable composure, “there’s only two possible casualties here and no one to defend them but themselves.” 

“Three,” Jaime had gritted out. “Or didn’t my wife tell you? She thinks it’s like to be twins.” 

And so the long long hours had passed.  

Jaime was worried. He’d been concerned the entire time, of course, but now he was truly frightened. Where before his wife had been screaming out curses he hadn’t known she knew- at her Gods, at his Gods, at her brother, at his father, most especially at him- now she had fallen quiet except to sob. Her hands were clammy, her grip now weak. Her eyes were glazed over in pain, her gaze far away as if remembering something else. What was she doing? Was she going away inside, like he had so many times in the throne room? 

Lyanna let out little gasps as she sobbed. 

“ _ Please _ ,” she whimpered, so quietly that none but Jaime and the girl could hear her, “ _ Help me, please, oh Gods oh Gods I’m dying! I’m dying up here! _ ” 

Tysa’s gaze went wide and met Jaime’s. 

“ _ Ser Arthur! Please! Get him to come back, please! Please, please, please! I’ll do anything he wants, I’ll marry anyone, just please! Fetch someone to help me! _ ” 

A muscle in Jaime’s jaw jumped. Tysa’s hazel eyes were filled with fear. The girl had known. Jaime felt his mouth tighten. He gave the girl a little nod. They’d talk about this later, if ever.

“ _ NED! _ ” his wife wept, “ _ Brandon I’m sorry I’m sorry forgive me forgive me pleasepleaseplease _ .” 

Jaime looked around his wife’s chambers at the army of servants and midwives. Only the best for Tywin Lannister’s heir.  _ Shit _ . If they’d heard her, they made no sign, but that meant nothing. His brothers had made no sign of hearing Rhaella’s screams either, but they’d heard them all the same. 

“ _ Please please, Wylla- Wylla I’m scared, please, oh Gods oh Gods! _ ” Jaime smoothed back Lyanna’s hair again and stood up from his chair to sit on the bed, next to her. He carded both hands through his wife’s thick, dark hair and cradled her head to him.  _ Shut up _ , he silently begged her, _ they’ll kill us all _ . 

His wife heard his prayers where the Gods never had. Her tears soaked the shirt he wore and her breath was hot against him, but she spoke no more damning words. 

“The babe is coming, my lord!” One of the midwives. Jaime was glad they were here because he would have no idea what to do by himself, but they also needed to not be here.  _ She was delirious _ , he’d tell his father,  _ of course she was, babbling nonsense like that. She just wanted her brothers. _ It wouldn’t be true but… 

Finally, finally, a wail broke through. Jaime knew instantly the sound of an infant’s cries. It breathed. Good. 

“A girl, my lord!” Jaime closed his eyes. Lyanna had been certain of twins. The next would be a boy, he was certain. The Gods laugh at fools. He clutched his wife a little closer to him. How soon would he come- holding her foot or a little later? 

“The second one is coming!” Dread filled him. Not holding her foot, then, but still- still he felt the dread curl around his shoulders.  _ Mayhaps he will be born dead _ , he thought. But no. His father would never stand for it. And he’d mourn him- he and his wife would mourn him. He wondered what had happened to his wife’s firstborn. 

Another set of screams rended the air. “A boy!” Jaime nodded and finally let go of his wife’s head. It was over now- or at least the worst of it. Soon she would wake. He kissed Lyanna’s forehead, a sign of genuine affection. When had that happened? 

He did not know how long he sat there, watching his wife breathe color back into her face before his wife’s eyes opened slowly. Her grey met his green. “My lord,” Lyanna whispered. 

“My lady.” He took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her fingers. 

“How are they?” 

“A girl and a boy. The girl came first, but the boy is the one my father needed. They both cried.” She nodded at that. 

“I was far away,” his wife said, “I thought I was-” 

“I know where you were,” he said, bringing a finger to her lips. Her eyes were wide with terror. Jaime managed a small smile of reassurance, gesturing to the servants and midwives at the foot of her bed. Lyanna nodded slowly. 

“May I see them?” Lyanna asked the room at large. 

“Of course, my lady.” Both children had been cleaned and swaddled. Each was carried by a different servant. One child was lowered into Jaime’s arms, the second into Lyanna’s. The child in Jaime’s arms was his son, he was told. Lyanna was given his daughter. 

They were  _ tiny _ . Not tiny in the way Tyrion had been as a child, no- they were proportioned as they ought to have been- but absolutely miniscule nonetheless. Jaime had always been tall, but he felt like a giant with his son in his arms. His  _ son _ . 

“What shall you name them, husband?” Lyanna asked him. 

“I thought I’d name the boy Jason for my mother’s father.” His wife nodded. “I think you ought to name her.” 

“Alys?” Lyanna suggested, “It’s a common enough name in the North. It might be short for Alysanne, if you think it better.” 

“Alysanne Lannister. Four N's for one little girl? Have mercy, woman.” He grinned at her to show her he was joking. “I like Alys fine. My aunts may prefer Alysanne, though. I doubt they’d approve of a name so common as Alys.” 

“We must needs ask them, then.” A little smile crossed Lyanna’s face. “Jason and Alys Lannister. I like it well, ser.” 

“Jaime,” he blurted out. She looked up at him from their daughter. “My name is Jaime. It has been since the day I was born. I’d prefer it if you called me Jaime.” Lyanna searched his face, then nodded. 

“Then hello, Jaime. My name is Lyanna. This is my daughter Alys. Or mayhaps her name is Alysanne.” 

“Hello Lyanna. This is my son Jason.” 

Husband and wife smiled at each other and stared down at their children. 

Unbeknownst to them, in another part of the castle, a little sapling poked out of the earth to taste the night air.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN  
> Yayyyyy Jaime x Lyanna development!  
> Did y'all catch Jaime inadvertently roasting Rhaegar? Yeah that's gonna cause some feels later I think.   
> Vote in the comments: Alys or Alysanne!


	11. A Discovery, A Prayer, and A Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna has done nothing but sit in bed for six weeks! Now it's time to go to the Godswood. What will she find there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More prayers! This fic is very full of religious undertones. I attend an Episcopalian Church, so a lot of my liturgy for literally anything will probably sound a little like it comes from the BCP. Liturgy is a really interesting part of any religion, no less so for a religion based on oral practices with no set way of worship. These prayers are just what I naturally think of when I think of prayers- tweaked, of course.   
> If religion skeeves you out, feel free to skip to the end.   
> As an aside, ASOIAF university published a page today about the most popular Jaime ships. Braime won!!! WHOO HOO BRAIME!! Here's something horrifying: 1% of Jaime fic is Jaime x Oberyn (nice, two fantastic, violent bisexuals) 1% is Jaime x Lyanna (HOORAY!!! OUR LITTLE CRACKSHIP THAT COULD!) and... 1% is Jaime x JORAH?! THE HELL??? Why would anyone ship my beautiful Jaime Lannister, sad drama sword boy extraordinaire with a disgustingly straight pedophile. GROSS.

Lyanna had no idea of what she’d said in her delirium until six weeks after the twins’ birth. It wasn’t until then than her husband had the chance to tell her. 

Her confinement was finally over and she was given permission to roam the halls of Casterly Rock once more. Though she longed to explore the castle and continue looking for ways out of the Rock, the very first thing she did was go to the Godswood, pitiful though it was. 

“Tysa,” she called, “fetch the babes. I intend to take them out to the Godswood. They’ll meet my gods, Heart tree or no Heart tree.” Tysa had no idea what her mistress was talking about with all this “heart tree” business, but she assumed it was simply another strange thing about serving a Northern lady. She carried baby Alys in her arms without questioning her. 

The Godswood was quiet and devoid of worshippers, as Lyanna had come to expect. The inhabitants of the Rock prefered to play in a true garden and pray in the Sept, thus avoiding the Godswood in its entirety. She didn’t mind. A Godswood was meant to be quiet, intimate, private from the eyes of other men. Perhaps this Godswood was neither Godly nor intimate, but it was quiet and no one bothered her there. 

The Godswood held a surprise for Lady Lyanna. Lyanna, uncertain as to whether she should address the most senior of the trees (the old oak) or the most watchful of the trees (the weirwood seeds, which like as not would not  _ begin _ to sprout for some time yet), looked around the Godswood as she debated the point internally. While her eyes darted about, her gaze fell upon a little sapling that had not been in attendance the last time Lyanna had come. 

“Tysa!” Lyanna exclaimed, “This one was not here the last time I was here!” Lyanna knelt down before it to inspect the little tree, her son in her arms. 

“Truly, my lady?” Tysa asked, skeptical. “Are you certain you simply do not remember it? I’ve never heard of a tree growing from seed to two foot tall in six weeks.” 

Lyanna had similar questions, but she shook her head. No, she was certain that this tree had not been there the last time. 

Lyanna leaned forward to look closer. The sapling, about two feet high, had a pale little trunk about the same width as her finger. Furled leaves made tiny red fists on the tree’s young branches. Lyanna realized that she was looking at the weirwood tree she had planted in the last weeks and days before the twins’ birth. 

“Tysa,” Lyanna breathed, “this sapling is the weirwood I planted the last time I was here.” Tysa was not certain she trusted her ladyship’s mind if Lady Lyanna truly believed that. It was all so very queer in any case. 

“It you say it is so, my lady.” Tysa looked around the Godswood uncertainly, still cradling the girl. “Ought I kneel besides you, my lady?” Lyanna looked up toward her maid, away from the weirwood and nodded. 

“Aye, you may. For the best if you do, in fact. It’ll help the tree to see you better.”  _ What? _ “Though of course it does not have eyes to see with, so it’s not like to see your face in any detail.” 

“Beg pardons, my lady?” Lyanna smiled at her maid’s confusion.

“You Sothron wouldn’t know, would you? In the North, every Godswood has a weirwood tree and every weirwood has a face carved into it.” 

“Why?” 

“So the Gods may see our lives, so they may better hear our prayers. In the North, weddings are always held before a weirwood tree that they may bear witness to it. Much as you would hold a wedding in a Sept.” Tysa nodded slowly. 

“When shall the face be carved into it?” She asked. 

“When it’s larger.” Lyanna then set down her son before the weirwood, still swaddled warmly. She made motion for Tysa to set his sister down beside him. 

“Old Gods, Gods of the forest, I present to you my eldest trueborn children: twins Alys Lannister and Jason Lannister. These are the children of my body, Lyanna Stark, daughter of Winterfell, and my husband’s body, Ser Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock. Watch over them and witness them as you have done for me. I shall teach them of you and of the heart trees and I will teach them to never cut down a tree in a Godswood, for Winter is Coming, forever and always.” Lyanna bowed her dark head to the tree to signal the end of her prayer. Tysa sat and watched her mistress, fascinated. Lyanna gave Jason to Tysa and held her daughter. They sat there on the ground in quiet contemplation while the infants gurgled, innocent of the world and all its failures. 

So did Ser Jaime find his wife. He had hurried from the training yard as soon as he heard his lady wife was out of bed. 

“Lyanna,” Jaime called, “I had heard you were released- oh, pardons,” he stopped, seeing that his wife was in prayer, “I knew not that you were praying.” 

“I am finished in my prayers for now, husband.” Jaime still did not come forward, seemingly conflicted, his green eyes flickering. “You may approach me, ser. I shan’t break from your mere presence.” Jaime came forward and sat down at his wife’s side, reaching for young Jason. 

“Jason?” he asked his wife. She nodded. He seemed relieved at that. 

“That is a wonderful talent, to know which child you are holding.” Jaime looked up. 

“Cersei and I were identical as children, or near enough as makes no matter. We looked so alike that we could switch daily activities or clothes and masquerade as the other. The only one who could tell us apart was Mother.” His young face turned a little sad at that before fading away back into its normal state. “We ought to cut their hair differently or tie a red ribbon around one child’s wrist and a green one around the other’s.” 

“That shan’t help when they’re old enough to untie them and switch them. But children often overlook the things which make their falsehoods obvious.”

Jaime was quiet at that, playing with his son’s fingers where they gripped his tightly. “If we are speaking of falsehoods, wife, then there is something we must needs discuss.” 

“What is it?” 

“When you were in the birthing bed… my lady, you fell into a delirious state and in it you said some things which, given what I know of Prince Rhaegar, suggest that you bore his child.” Lyanna stared at her husband in shock. He did not seem angry but perhaps he was better at hiding his emotions than she’d suspected. “Fear not! I shan’t tell my father nor anyone else. I do not intend to hold this over your head. I simply thought I should tell you that I know.” 

Silence reigned in the Godswood, as it is wont to do. “Who else heard?” Lyanna whispered. 

“I did, my lady,” Tysa said. “I guessed it even in King’s Landing, but this confirmed it further.” Lyanna nodded, running her fingers through the fine down atop her daughter’s head. 

“Did the babe survive, Lyanna?” Jaime asked gently. That was strange- a Kingsguard and Kingslayer, gentle where he had no need to be. 

“My brother Eddard has a bastard son named Jon, born but a few moons after his heir. He has the Stark look. Ned sends word of their antics in each letter he writes me.” Lyanna was careful not to acknowledge the truth outright. 

After Lyanna gave this little confession, Ser Jaime did something that surprised her. He slipped a rough, calloused hand under her hair to the back of her neck and pulled her head forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of it. 

“I thank you for telling me, brave little wife. I shan’t tell a soul.” 

“Nor shall I, my lady.” 

_ And the trees know it now, but they can be relied upon to keep a secret. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyyyy! We can already see hints of Jaime's nervousness about having twins. For good reason.   
> Jaime and Cersei's messed up, tangled shtick, has deep roots in this switcharoo they pulled as kids. If no one can tell them apart, is it not fair to say that they are, indeed, one and the same person? Ugh. Jaime x Cersei is very interesting, but it makes me want to puke.   
> So, her name is Alys to Jaime, Lyanna, Jason, and Tyrion. These POVs will call her Alys. Everyone else is gonna call her Alysanne because ain't nobody giving Tywin Lannister's granddaughter a NICKNAME. I think the name Alys won the poll, but like. Come on, Tywin was never going to let her be names ALYS. One of you commented that the name Alysanne sounds much more like a Braime kid. You are absolutely right, it does. But Tywin Lannister is not a Braime shipper and thus cannot know the travesty he commits.


	12. Letters II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler. State of affairs. Tywin's going East to KL. Which babies have been born. That sort of thing. I realized while writing this that- hah- Alys Lannister and Alys Karstark are about the same age, born in 284 AC or at least thereabouts. They also share a birth year with Dany and Gendry.   
> At some point in the past several chapters, Stannis Baratheon attacked Dragonstone, Rhaella died birthing Dany, and Dany and Viserys were spirited away to Braavos. I doubt this will ever be mentioned in the text. Wow that's a lot of balls in the air, George.

_ To my brother, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell,  _

_ First, I must thank you for the parcel sent with your last missive. I have put it to use already- there has been some stunning progress with it for such short a period of time.  _

_ Second, I bear glad tidings. You are uncle to twins now, a boy and a girl. She was born first. We’ve decided to call her Alys, but her grandfather will call her Alysanne. My husband named the boy Jason. I like the name fine. He’ll need a proper Westerlands name as he’s to be lord some day. I’m sure his bannermen may give him grief for having a wild northern savage for a mother. If they dare say it to my face I’ll lop their noses off and feed their intestines to a weirwood; see how they like us wild northern savages then.  _

_ The birth was I think more difficult than I’d expected, but I was so relieved to be attended by a veritable sea of midwives and maesters. Ser Jaime and my maid Tysa sat by my side the entire time and held me when I fell into delirium. I believe I said some things in this fogged up state which may tell the identity of sweet Jon’s mother. My husband has confessed what he heard and what he has assumed. He does not believe any of the aforementioned sea heard what was said, but I am worried for the poor child nonetheless. Do take precaution, dearest Ned. Jaime and Tysa have sworn to keep silent, but I fear what certain beasts may do to him.  _

_ Your words in your last letter about how your lady wife has treated our dear Jon have me quite concerned. Might it not be wise to advise your wife to the mother’s identity? It may help her better understand things. Mayhaps she will treat the boy better. It may help whatever frostiness she may feel against you. Your marriage need not be based on lies. Tell your wife the truth of the matter and be done with it. She has a right to know.  _

_ I don’t know how much you know about the goings on of King’s Landing, but I thought I’d tell you. Mind, I only know this much from what my husband shares with me.  _

_ Lord Tywin Lannister will decamp on the morrow to King’s Landing, leaving my husband and Ser Kevan Lannister in charge here. I am told Lord Tywin will take up a position in the King’s council. Whether it be as Master of Coin or as Hand of the King, I know not.  _

_ Young Tyrion is ecstatic. It disturbs me somewhat that a child could so loathe his own father, but I suppose it is not so surprising. Lord Tywin ne’er looks to Tyrion but to glare, ne’er speaks to him but to scold, ne’er touches him but to strike. If Tyrion had but five namedays more and a sword of his own, I wager he’d kill his lordship himself.  _

_ But while the boy may yet commit patricide, he is very attentive to his niece and nephew and thinks them rather adorable. He reports them to be lovely children, far better behaved than Lancel at that age. He does wish they were more mobile or verbal. I hope the day never comes when they can speak and run about. I’ll never get any sleep then.  _

_ Since the twins were born, my husband has been more attentive to me. He takes an interest in his children, both of them. I think it a very good thing- his fondness for our children. Mayhaps it makes him more inclined towards fondness for  _ me! _ I know you like him not but I need him. He has never raised a hand to me, brother. That makes him better than Robert, and better than Robert is all I ever wanted.  _

_ One thing more to tell you. I planted the weirwood seeds in the Godswood shortly before the twins were born. As soon as I was freed from my confinement, I went to present them before the Gods. The seeds have grown into a sapling, at least two feet high. I have never heard of a tree growing so quickly. What more, I had such a dream on the night I planted it- I think it a vision from the Old Gods, Ned. It has frightened me terribly. I know not what to do. I am the only follower of the Old Gods in this castle, Ned, and I think even the Southron houses that do follow our Gods could not help me. I do not understand it. In the dream, the twins were there, older. They carved the tree’s face. Ned, I did not truly know that I was to have twins. How could I have known before they were born? How could I have known they would be a boy and a girl? _

_ You know that I forever crave any word you send, especially of the children. Do think about what I said about your wife.  _

_ With love,  _

_ Your sister, Lady Lyanna Lannister, Daughter of Winterfell  _

 

_ To my sister, Lady Lyanna Lannister,  _

_ I am pleased to learn of my new niece and nephew. Nuncle Ned has a certain allure to it, I must confess. Do they look more Stark or Lannister yet? I shall love them either way, for they are yours, but I truly cannot stand the thought of them taking after their father. You say the relationship between yourselves is improving, but I care not. Lyanna, I do not like your husband. I think it may always be the case.  _

_ I have written your goodbrother down as a lad to watch. We do not want this rage to become anything too terrible. Mayhap you ought to send him to the Citadel now the boy’s father has gone to the Capitol.  _

_ My lady wife’s sister sends word from King’s Landing on occasion. I am told he drinks a great deal and is openly unfaithful to the Queen. Your goodfather may find himself quite furious with the state of affairs there. So your husband is better to you than Robert would have been. An easy target, sister. I worry that any man might make a better husband than my old friend.  _

_ Benjen misses you terribly. He’s half-determined to go to the Wall and become a ranger. I mislike it, sister, but I am not sure what to tell him. He blames himself for it all- Brandon and Father, I mean.  _

_ “Tell your wife the truth of the matter”? Lya, I think all that gold you sleep on is rotting your brain away. It would be foolish to risk everything because a spurned woman is bitter. I pray my lady wife forgives me for what sins I have committed in the eyes of men, but telling her the identity of the boy’s mother is dangerous. She must needs believe certain things about her, else no one will. If her demeanor towards him were to suddenly change, what then? People might discover things they ought not know.  _

_ Robb has decided that he shall be a great warrior. He has had but two namedays, but he runs around Winterfell, attaching himself to the guards’ legs and insisting they face him in mortal combat. He does not know what either of those words mean. I pray he shall never have need to face anyone in a fight to the death. They are both such little things. It makes me ill to think of anything happening to them.  _

_ Your word of the weirwood is most alarming, sister. I must needs ask Howland next I see him. He has a better understanding of the weirwoods than the other lords combined. He visited recently, told me of his daughter. She’s about the same age as Robb and Jon. Howland and Jyanna named her Meera. I can’t imagine what a Crannogman child looks like. Young Meera must be extraordinarily small.  _

_ Your daughter Alys is the same age as Alys Karstark. Her father is already plotting to have Robb marry her. They are but babes, sweet sister. I do not see the wisdom in such early betrothals. What can be the point? None of them shall marry for fifteen years yet. It’s enough to drive a man mad. Your husband and your goodbrother must already be receiving letters from their bannermen asking for your children's hands in marriage. Do be certain the Kingslayer consults you before selling your children off to some terrible Westerlands child.  _

_ Your beloved, if cynical, brother,  _

_ Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned really doesn't like the Lannisters, huh.


	13. Catelyn Tully Stark and the Evil Little Bastard Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell! Cat's spiraling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. We do see more of Wylla tho, which is cool.

Catelyn Tully was still unsure about her new life at Winterfell. It was cold here, despite the heat of her chambers. It was lonely here, despite the bustling of servants. It was quiet here, despite the shrieking of children. 

She had lived in Winterfell for over a year now- in the cold and the quiet and the loneliness. Today was her son’s second nameday. Though her husband had agreed to a good-sized supper, he seemed to feel that anything more would be an extravagance. 

“An extravagance, my lord?” She kept her tone carefully controlled. Her husband looked a bit sad, but perfectly calm. 

“So my steward tells me.” He passed a ledger to her- inventory of meat, grain, and wine. She ran her finger over the numbers, disappointed to see that her husband was likely right. It would have been excessive. She had not even truly wanted a feast for her son’s nameday. She had simply wished that her son was worth his father’s attention. But perhaps he wasn’t and would never be. Not with that other boy forever sitting next to him. 

It wasn’t that she hated the child. It was just that he represented the only obvious fault in her marriage to her husband. They’d met shortly before the wedding, married in the Sept at Riverrun, conceived Robb, parted then- what? He’d left her bed and hopped into another woman’s at the first chance he was given. His son was smaller than hers, but Wylla, the boy’s  _ wetnurse _ \- was she the true mother? ohhh how she’d raise seven _hells_ if her husband thought she would allow him a mistress in  _ this _ way, in  _ her _ home ohhh by the Seven- said she thought the boy a smaller child than most. Wylla knew the boy’s nameday. Catelyn didn’t bother to ask. 

It would have been one thing for her husband to have a bastard while he was at war. Men have bastards. Camp followers swarmed themselves around an army like locusts- it was to be expected that a man might turn to another woman’s comfort. Theirs was not a love match; she was not, could not be angry about that. 

But for him to bring the child home? Set him up so near to his heir- to  _ her _ child? It was disrespectful. It was humiliating. She seethed at the indignity. 

But she never complained to her husband. Eddard seemed kind and honorable, soft-spoken and straight forward. He touched her and spoke to her with utmost respect and gentleness- far more than she ever might have expected or hoped for with Brandon. He seemed so respectful of her. Why had he so grievously insulted her like this? She did not know. Her husband would not say. 

Wylla would not say either. Catelyn had asked the girl once why Eddard was choosing to have the boy brought up like this. Wylla had turned to her, her mouth set hard in a pretty face, dark eyes cold. “I know why Lord Stark does not tell you. I shall not tell you either.” The twinge of a Dornish accent tangled in her speech. “I can say that it was not to hurt you. Lord Stark is a good man, my lady. He has his reasons to not tell you. It happens I think them good ones.” 

So Wylla would never give her any real answers. Mayhaps she wasn’t the boy’s mother. Most women in that position would have lorded it over her in some way, she thought. 

_ Why do you care so? _ Catelyn asked herself.  _ What does it matter if he laid with another woman? You are a Tully. Is it now that you lose your dignity? Is it now that you become irrational? WHY DO YOU CARE?  _

Simple.

_ Because if he loves his son more than he does mine, then I am nothing here. Because if his bannermen think he does not respect you, they may not follow your son in time. Because the boy may pose a threat to my children and any threat must not be tolerated. Because I want to like my husband. I want to like Winterfell. I want to have a place here.  _

_ And I fear the boy may be in the way of that.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If a single one of you says a single word against my girl Catelyn Stark I will punt you into the sun because all of her feelings are VALID.   
> (and yeah, the way she treats Jon is shitty and i'm mad at her about that but seriously no you do not get to call her a bitch or anything of the sort this woman is SMART and KIND and CAPABLE and she reacts UNDERSTANDABLY. hell, she reacts BETTER than some people would have. Lyanna or Cersei would have thrown a fucking FIT. Catelyn Stark is NOT the devil, guys. Anyone who says she is is just a misogynist...)   
> I digress. Back to the Rock next chapter. Maybe we'll even see how NedCat has progressed.


	14. What Happened To Lyanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna talks about what I think happened to Lyanna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS! Sorry I've been away- 10 whole days with no updates wow. This is kind of long and pretty solely focused on Lyanna and Rags and the Tower and all that stuff.   
> WARNINGS!!! Non-con/Rape is discussed. Lyanna blames herself for a lot of what happened but I tried to make clear that it is ALL RHAEGAR'S FAULT because it is. (and also bloodraven's but we don't talk about that we just allude to it)   
> Oh yeah and also the Old Gods are STILL trippy

_ The dream was cold.  _

_ She was standing in her little chamber at the top of the Tower. That room had never been cold- not even at night. That was why the cold so surprised her: this room should not have been cold. Why was it cold? There was something outside the window, but Lyanna could not quite see it- a flash of blue-white, a chattering sound like a shiver.  _

_ Lyanna stared at the woman on the bed.  _ Is that me? _ She thought. The woman had dark hair, shiny with sweat (despite the bitter bite of cold air in the room) and grease, a shift clinging to her swollen body, her face taut in silent screams. There was blood everywhere- was that her blood? Had she truly bled so much?  _

_ A wolf, a little star, and a lizard lion entered the room. _

_ The wolf rushed to the woman’s head- her head?- and licked the sweat and salt from her eyes, the snot from her nose. He curled himself about her hair and slowly it turned from dirty water to sweet, dark earth.  _

_ The lizard lion bit at her bloated ankles and feet and blue-black blood flowed out until her legs were normal once more. The lizard lion then turned and stood guard before the door of the tower and she saw that the lion killed a bright star and an ox and a bat.  _

_ The little star rushed to between her legs and dragged a white wolf with ruby wings and eyes from deep within the woman. It was silent, but breathed- and its breath was fire such that the cold fell away. _

_ “ _ **_SO YOU SEE, LYANNA_ ** _ ,” spoke the tree, “ _ **_WE HAVE ALREADY HELPED YOU_ ** _.”  _

_ “No, you did not,” Lyanna whispered, “or Rhaegar would never have been born.”  _

_ “ _ **_THE DRAGON HAD TO BE BORN. WE NEED IT. THE CHILD HAD TO BE BORN, THE WAR HAD TO HAPPEN. LYANNA-”_ **

“My lady!” Tysa’s voice. 

Lyanna cracked an eye open. Sunlight streamed into her chambers. Tysa stood at the foot of her bed, buckets full of hot water in her hands. 

“You were tossing and turning in your sleep, my lady.” 

“Was I?” 

“I thought you must’ve been dreaming something terrible.”

Lyanna ran a hand over her face and sighed. “Aye, so I was.” 

***

“My brother is building his wife a Sept,” Lyanna told Tysa as she scrubbed at her skin with soap.

“Is he? That’s kind of him.” 

Lyanna smiled to herself. “It is. I think it a sure sign that they shall have a strong marriage if he so respects her. If it weren’t for the weirwood, I’d feel so uncomfortable and it isn’t as if Lady Catelyn’s siblings can send her a Sept with their letters, can they?” 

“No indeed, my lady,” Tysa said, working her fingers through Lady Lyanna’s hair. It was truly kind of Lady Lyanna’s brother to give that to his wife. It was not often that one saw such respect between a lord and his lady. But the way Lady Lyanna spoke of her brother told Tysa that Lord Stark was a good sort of man. To be certain, he was not a knight, but knights were not always gallant. 

“Shall the children be taught your Gods or hers?” 

“Ned is quite insistent that the children learn both.” 

“Both, my Lady?” Tysa had thought it would have to be one or the other- surely one parent or the other would have the sole task of teaching religion?

“Both. Their mother’s Gods are theirs, too. My children shall know the Seven’s gaze. Mayhap one will choose to be a Septa or Septon.” 

“And it does not bother you?” 

“Why should it, Tysa?” 

“Well, they’d be choosing his lordship’s Gods over yours.” 

“It’s not a competition.” 

“To be sure, my lady. But when the Andals came to Westeros, we burned down the weirwoods.” 

“Aye. But the Andals you are not. You are Westerosi. Aye, you call yourselves Andals at times and you speak their tongue and you worship their Gods, but are you still crusaders bent on destroying my people in the name of those Gods? No. You find my Gods frightening, but you do not truly hate them. In truth, you all hate the Dornish more than you do us.” 

“True enough, my lady.” 

Lyanna stopped scrubbing and stared off a little. “Princess Elia was Dornish.” Tysa said nothing, curious where her mistress was going with this. “I saw her. At the Tourney.” 

“When the prince gave you the roses?” 

“Aye. She was seated with her ladies- I think Ashara Dayne was one of them. She was beautiful.” 

“I’ve heard Lady Ashara was the most beautiful woman in the realm.” 

“Lady Ashara? Oh, certainly, she was beautiful. Eyes like dusk and hair like night. But I was speaking of Princess Elia.” 

“She was beautiful? I haven’t heard that so much.” 

“Aye. She was beautiful. And from what he told me, she was kind and a good mother.” Lyanna picked up the soap again, attacking the space between her thighs like she could take away the injustice done to Elia if she could only scrub away the evidence of what Rhaegar had done. 

“It was not right,” she muttered fiercely, “I had three Kingsguard and the rest of them only had Jaime. What was he thinking?” She slumped in the bath. “I know what he was thinking. He was thinking he was about to  _ win _ .” 

*** 

Lyanna slammed the dull blade into a tree. The grove was quiet, away from the castle, exactly what she’d been looking for before she’d grown too heavy with the twins to explore.  

“He wrote me letters, after the Tourney.” 

“Letters, my lady?” 

“Aye,” Lyanna said grimly, “letters. Telling me his plans for when he was king, interesting things he came across in books. Mostly he wanted to know about me. I’d write pages to him- petty complaints about Brandon and Father, how I didn’t want to marry Robert, about Robert’s bastards. One day, his letters said he had a tower in the Dornish mountains where none would bother me. He said if I went with him, I could live there for all my days and never have to lay eyes on Robert Baratheon or my father ever again.” 

“So you left, my lady.” 

“And so I left. I told Benjen what I had planned- he didn’t tattle, I knew he wouldn’t- and I left a note behind, and while Brandon and I were in the Riverlands, I snuck away to a meeting place to meet the Crown Prince. He had three Kingsguard with him and I thought nothing of it. One night he kissed me. I was fifteen. It was my first kiss. I was tired and I’d been riding for weeks. He was handsome and powerful and he was going to be king. He didn’t smell bad like Robert did and he was quiet where Robert was loud and I decided I didn’t care about anything else. I never thought-- well I left a note, didn’t I?” 

“I wonder what happened to it.” 

“As do I, Tysa. I wonder how many men’s lives were lost either because someone read it or because it was lost.” 

*** 

“I wanted to go back home as soon as I heard about Brandon and Father. They hadn’t wanted me to know, but I overheard one of the Kingsguard telling Rhaegar about what had happened in the Red Keep. I was heartbroken. I laid with him that night, seeking comfort. The next morning I told him I wanted to leave- I wanted to see Ned. He said no. He said I had to stay, we both had to stay. He had to stay to protect me and I had to stay because if I didn’t I’d be forced to marry Robert or someone else. I said I didn’t care. I wanted to see Ned, I wanted to leave. He said I needed to calm myself- he gave me wine and wine and more wine until I was drunk out of my mind and I wanted him again. And it kept being like that until I fell with child. And then he left.” 

“I’m sorry, my lady.” 

“For what, Tysa?” 

“For ever thinking he was a good man.” 

"I thought the same once, too, Tysa. Do not cry that you did not know he was a monster. Cry that he was a monster at all."


End file.
